


Witch

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 04:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18514264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Something goes bump in the night.





	Witch

Rustling then silence. Noisy silence. The kind where your breathing sounds like thunder, your heart sounds like the bass at a Deep Purple gig, your blood rushes around your ears like Niagara Falls. Even the way his lips unstick sound like they were fixed together with superglue. It’s thick, midnight dark. It’s motel in the forest dark. It’s spooky case dark. He unfolds his fingers. A knuckle cracks. 

The rustling starts again. He gulps in a breath and reaches over for his weapon. Cold against his palm. His eyes are adjusting to the darkness and, is that…a shadow hunkered down in the corner. He screws his eyes together, narrowing his vision. It’s the armchair. Fucking idiot. His head flops back to the pillow and he cradles the gun to his chest. The silence is evening out. A truck chugs by. He wishes it would rain. Pattering on the roof to calm his nerves with its rhythm.

It’s not even the sudden crash that startles him. It’s the screech after. Animalistic but terrified. He hits the floor, weapon outstretched, willing his voice to come.  
“FBI, show yourself.” There’s an unevenness about his tone. Like a teenage boy with a voice break. He clears his throat. “I’m armed.”  
“So ‘m I,” she slurs. “Sorry, Mul’r. Couldn’t sleep.” 

His heart doesn’t still though. The sound of her fatigue-abraded voice, the proximity of her in his room. The smell, God, the smell of her, sleep-warm. He finds the lamp and switches it on, taking her in, curled on the armchair, hair tumbling over her freckled face, lips slightly apart, eyes wet and wide, feet in knitted ankle socks, a black robe loose around her. There’s a glass of soda spilling over the floor. Raspberry red. 

She’s a girl witch. Right here with him. And she’s cast her spell over him.


End file.
